


The Wolf

by wheel_pen



Series: Miscellaneous Smallville Stories [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Shapeshifting, Wolf Lex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ordinary Clark helps an injured wolf, and then meets a mysterious stranger with the same eyes. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf

The stars were bright pinpricks in the velvety black fabric of the sky, and Clark stared up at them as he walked, feeling that same old desperation for something new, something magical, that somehow perhaps the stars could provide—something that would get him out of the tiny town he’d spent his whole life in. He always felt that way at night lately, under the stars, a kind of restless longing for something that rose above the mundane details of his everyday existence, above the largely prosaic future plans his friends were starting to formulate now that they were juniors in high school. Staying in town to work at the family business. College in the big city—four more years of struggle on a miniscule budget, only completely surrounded by things and places you couldn’t afford. Lana’s big dream? To go to Paris and become a fashion designer. Slightly more ambitious, yes—in fact, _too_ ambitious, the kind of thing you always said you wanted but never really tried to accomplish. She would end up working at her aunt’s coffee shop for sure.

Such were the fates Clark was so desperate to avoid. Not that he thought he was better or more deserving than anyone else. Far from it—Clark was easily the dullest person he knew, okay at school, okay at sports, loser with girls, spent all his free time working on the family farm, watched sci-fi movies like the biggest geek on the planet. Clark _knew_ he wasn’t special. But he _believed_ , that was the key—he truly believed that something special could happen _to_ him, believed it in a way that would have had his friends splitting their sides with laughter and calling him a superstitious, fantasy world-dwelling third grader.

But yet Clark still believed it was possible, and wanted _so hard_ for it to happen, whatever _it_ was, especially when he was out at night under the stars. He had actually taken to avoiding being out at night—which hampered his social life even _more_ —because the yearning was so strong, and he was always disappointed. Nothing magical or special had ever happened to him. Instead he just stood outside filled with a nameless desperate longing—and then he went back inside, to the warmly lit coffee shop or school gymnasium or kitchen, and everything was exactly the way it had been before. And he felt like a small portion of him was crushed each time that happened.

So now he was staring at the stars, and stumbling down the dirt road, and cursing himself for not taking up Pete’s offer of a ride home. Not that it was cold, really, despite the October breeze, and not that he was nervous or tired—he had walked this mile home hundreds of times, even at night. But the stars were calling him strongly tonight, and he knew nothing would happen to help him answer.

Clark stepped awkwardly on a clod of dirt on the shoulder of the road and lost his balance. He was not gifted with grace, either. He picked himself up, irritatedly brushing the dirt off his jeans, then looked back up at the road to continue his journey.

That was when he saw the wolf.

Glowing a brilliant white in the moonlight, Clark didn’t understand how he had failed to spot this creature from farther away—but there it stood in the middle of the road, not fifteen feet away from him. He stood frozen, barely breathing, waiting to see what the animal would do. Wolves were very uncommon in this part of the country—perhaps it was just a white dog, or some wolf-like breed? Perhaps Clark sensed its inherent tameness, and that was why he didn’t feel fear, just a tiny thrill of excitement. Perhaps the stars were not entirely lying to him tonight.

The wolf-dog took a tentative step forward, and Clark saw that it was limping—one front paw was held gingerly off the ground. Clark might be average at most things, he knew, but he _was_ pretty good with animals. For whatever that was worth. Clark took a slow step forward, and the animal retreated an equal distance, eyeing him warily.

“It’s okay, boy,” Clark said in a low, calm voice, like he used with the horses at home. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He stretched out a hand then took another step forward. The dog held his ground, cautious but curious. Clark continued ahead slowly, pausing when the wolf-dog tensed, speaking in a soothing tone, until he was within a few feet of the animal. Then he dropped slowly to his knees and motioned for the dog to come to him. “It’s okay, boy,” he repeated. “Come here, it’s okay.”

The creature blinked, assessing Clark, then haltingly limped towards him. He was whining in the back of his throat, and the teenager soon saw why: a nail protruded through the dog’s front paw. Clark winced in sympathy and coaxed the creature closer. “Come on, boy. I can get that out for you,” he promised. “It’s probably going to hurt… but you’ll feel better in the end. Come on.”

Eventually the wolf-dog was close enough to inquisitively sniff the hand Clark held up. “Okay, boy,” the teenager told him, “don’t bite me now. Let me see your paw.” Clark reached out to take the injured limb but the animal whined and pulled back. Keeping his tone patient, Clark spoke to him again, and this time the paw remained still for him to grasp it above the wound. He examined it quickly in the pale moonlight—there wasn’t much blood and the puncture seemed clean enough. If he could get the animal to stay with him, perhaps he could take it over to Doc Tanner’s in the morning for a tetanus shot.

“Okay, boy,” Clark warned, gripping the paw more firmly. “This is going to hurt. Don’t bite me now.” He swore the wolf-dog nodded in agreement. Grasping the protruding head of the nail underneath the paw, Clark took a breath, then pulled it straight out, quick and clean. The creature jerked and gave a short yelp, but otherwise made no response. Clark held the nail up for the animal to see, as if it could really comprehend. “Nasty, isn’t it?” he commented, winging the nail into the nearby cornfield.

The wolf-dog started to pull away the paw Clark still held, but the teenager wouldn’t let go. “Hang on a second,” he said, quickly digging in his pockets with his free hand. Finally he pulled out a crumpled red bandanna, soft from years of use and washing, and wrapped it gently but firmly around the paw. “There you go,” he concluded, sitting back feeling quite satisfied with himself. “Hopefully that will keep it from getting infected.” Clark stood slowly as the creature raised its head to blink solemnly at him. The teenager glanced up the road—they weren’t too far from home. “You’re too big for me to carry,” Clark admitted, “but if you want to follow me home, you can sleep in the barn tonight, and I’ll take you to the vet tomorrow. See, it’s just up there.” The teenager pointed towards the yellow farmhouse shrouded in moonlight about a hundred yards away, and the creature turned its head to follow, then looked back at Clark expectantly. “Okay then, I’ll go slow.” And Clark started to walk, slowly, looking backwards until the animal started to follow, barely limping at all.

“That’s it, boy,” Clark encouraged. “Come on.” They walked in silence, Clark no longer thinking about the stars but rather what he would need to do when he got home, to make his guest comfortable. He was pretty sure his parents wouldn’t be pleased he’d brought a wolf-dog-thing home, even for just one night, what with the cows and especially the chickens nearby. But somehow the teenager felt like the creature wouldn’t bother the farm animals—maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part? Then the dog unexpectedly licked Clark’s hand as they walked along, and Clark thought that maybe he _was_ right after all.

“Okay, boy, here’s the barn,” Clark announced, unnecessarily, as they entered the cavernous space. “Dad keeps it pretty clean, but watch out for equipment.” Over in the corner was a pile of hay and Clark fluffed it a bit, coughing at the dust he’d stirred up. “Okay, you can sleep here if you want,” he told the animal, giving the hay a pat that he hoped made it look appealing. The wolf-dog gave him a look that Clark swore said, _hay? Are you serious?_ But after a moment it moved to the pile and settled down. Looking around, Clark pulled a moth-eaten blanket off a shelf and draped it partially over the animal, worried that the night might be too cold.

“Alright, so I’m going to go in the house and get you some food and water, okay?” Clark told the creature, worried it might either try to follow him or just wander off if he disappeared. “You stay right there, okay?” The teenager slowly backed away, keeping the animal in sight the whole time, until he finally left the barn and turned to jog into the house.

Glad that his parents appeared to be immersed in _Jeopardy_ in the other room, Clark dug out a large plastic bowl and filled it with water, then opened the fridge looking for meat products.

“Clark, honey, is that you?” his mom called.

“Who is Sir Walter Scott?” his dad said to the TV.

“Yes, it’s me,” Clark shouted back, peering into the fridge. “Hey, can I have these leftover hamburgers?”

“What is bipedalism?”

“Sure, honey,” his mom answered. He heard her start to stand. “Want me to warm them up for you?”

“No, I’m okay,” Clark told her quickly. “Thanks, though.”

“What was the Battle of 1812? No?! Of course it was! You’re wrong, Alex!”

Rolling his eyes Clark grabbed the cold hamburgers and bowl of water and hurried back out to the barn. Much to his relief the wolf-dog still lay on the straw under the blanket. It picked up its silvery-white head and blinked at him as he approached. “Here you go,” Clark reported triumphantly, setting the food and water down near the creature, who examined them with its nose but didn’t actually consume anything. Clark frowned, disappointed. “Guess you’re not hungry right now, huh,” he surmised. “Well, I guess you can always have some later…”

“Clark!” His mother’s voice from the vicinity of the back porch startled him. “Are you out here?”

“I’d better go,” Clark told the animal, who watched him with great interest. He felt strangely reluctant to leave the beautiful creature, whose eyes seemed so intelligent, but if his mom came out here looking for him… “Okay, well, I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” With that, the teenager forced himself to turn and trot out of the barn.

***

The next day was clear and bright with just a nip of fall in the air. Clark was up extra early, doing his chores so he would have time to take the animal he’d found last night to the vet. He half-believed the whole encounter had just been some fevered dream his mind had concocted and was eager to reassure himself of the creature’s reality. He headed out to the barn as soon as he could, rounded the corner to the back, and stopped dead in his tracks, a feeling of utter disappointment washing over him. The wolf-dog was gone. The hamburgers were uneaten.

***

School was out, homework was done, chores weren’t due yet, and Clark was wandering around Main Street desperate for something to do, hoping against hope that sitcom reruns and reorganizing his tool chest weren’t the only things he had to look forward to this evening. The world was a huge place! There were so many things in it! So many people and places and events that Clark saw on TV or read about in books, so many exciting, exotic _things_ that made his hometown seem like the dullest locale on Earth this particular Thursday night.

His friends were back at the coffee shop, he knew; he could go there, spend half his allowance on a frothy drink, listen to people complain about school and parents and relationships. It occurred to Clark, depressingly, that he didn’t really _like_ his friends very much—they were good kids, probably the best in town for him to _call_ ‘friends,’ but he didn’t have that much in common with them, and often he found himself not really caring about their problems. He wondered if this made him a bad person.

Feeling irrationally guilty all of a sudden, Clark stopped and turned, determined to go back to the coffee shop and look on the bright side, as his father would say. Maybe inane chatter would lighten the grim mood he’d had all day, since he’d discovered the wolf-dog had disappeared from the barn. He’d thought about telling this story to his friends, but ruled it out almost immediately. At best they wouldn’t quite get it; at worst they’d just think he was weird. More weird.

Clark was almost to the coffee shop when a voice caught his attention. “Young man.” He stopped as a figure emerged from the shadows of the alley, the way no one native to _this_ small town ever moved, a graceful gliding motion enhanced by the long black coat the man wore. He was only a few years older than Clark, the teenager decided, a bit shorter but quite slender, with pale skin in contrast to his dark clothing. Moonlight glinted off his completely bald scalp. Clark had the distinct impression this guy wasn’t from around here.

“Um, can I help you?” Clark asked politely. The streets and shops were full of people, some of whom were even now looking askance at this stranger, so Clark didn’t feel too concerned for his personal safety. Still, the man’s eyes flicked up and down him in an oddly nerve-racking way, before their gazes met and Clark found himself reminded of the wolf-dog, for some reason. He shook his head and told himself to stay focused.

“I think this belongs to you,” the man told him, holding something out to Clark. The teenager glanced down and tried to place the man’s odd accent before he realized he was staring at his own bandanna.

“Oh, wow,” was all Clark could sputter in surprise, taking the piece of cloth that had obviously been washed and possibly even ironed. A light bulb went on over his head. “I guess that was _your_ dog last night, right?”

The man gave a wry smile. “One could say that,” he answered cryptically, then added more cheerfully, “I am most grateful for your assistance. You were very kind, and quite brave.”

“Oh, well, it was nothing,” Clark insisted, feeling awkward suddenly. “I mean, we get a lot of animals at the farm and… Uh, how did you know it was me?” he asked after a moment, trying to puzzle it out.

The man flashed a grin, just for a moment, that taught Clark the meaning of the word ‘dazzling.’ “Why, my dog told me, of course!” he replied with a laugh. He clapped Clark forcefully on his shoulder and turned him towards the coffee shop. “Come, let me buy you a drink in partial payment of my debt to you. My name is Lex Luthor, by the way…”


End file.
